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Pulitzer Prize-winning New York Times reporter Eric Lichtblau visited the Law School this month for a talk on his new book, “The Nazis Next Door: How America Became a Safe Haven for Hitler’s Men.” Lichtblau sat down with me after the presentation to talk Nazi hunting, shady Cold War deals, and World War II mysteries yet to be solved.
People slowly filter into the Adams Junior Common Room on a sunny Saturday morning. Old Boston types clad in bow-ties and jackets and young families sporting multiple shoulder bag worth of childcare equipment all grab refreshment and settle into the plush couches to convene with their adopted first-year students. This is one of the four events thrown each year by the Freshman Dean’s Office for participants in the Host Family Program.
Hilton Als is a staff writer for the New Yorker. He wrote “The Women,” and recently published a new novel, “White Girls.”
With Thanksgiving around the corner, FM sat down with Harvard School of Engineering and Applied Sciences’ Michael P. Brenner and David A. Weitz, who teach SPU 27: Science and Cooking, for advice on how to cook the perfect Thanksgiving dinner at the molecular level.
Each photo is intensely personal, each gaze piercingly direct, each sentence strikingly raw: “My blood is too gay to save a life.” “How much did your gender cost you?” “My identity is not a sin.” “No girl is too pretty to be a lesbian.” “Where are the queer Asian stories?”
Megan L. Amram ’10, a Twitter famous writer for NBC’s “Parks and Recreation,” calls her new book, “Science...For Her!” her “id of writing.” Having recently stopped by Cambridge for her book tour, she admits that Portland (her hometown) and Harvard were the two stops to which she was most looking forward. “I had so much fun. It really was like, ‘Oh, my God, this is mah people!,’” she says. With Harvard-Yale almost upon us, Amram later tells me how much she loves The Game. Amram, a teasing curl in her voice, cheers, “Go Crimson. I love sports and I love Harvard. I can’t get enough of it.”
When he’s not working as deputy editor of Harvard Magazine, Craig A. Lambert ’69 travels the country giving talks everywhere from from Richmond, Va. to San Diego, Calif. on the topic of “How Harvard Changed Comedy.”
Throughout Harvard’s history, many talented commencement speakers have taken to the university’s stages to send off the graduates with a touch of humor. Here are a handful of the funniest witticisms from past Ivy Orations.
Alexandra A. Petri ’10, a comedic op-ed writer on The Washington Post, talks to FM about Hasty Pudding puns, her favorite humorists, and life metaphors.
“Our mission, as we state in our website, is the enhancement of human existence through the advancement of the field of social engineering,” Cengiz Cemaloğlu ’18 says. He’s talking about Reality Theatre Co., a Hong Kong-based company of which he was the director last year. During his senior year of high school, he says that Reality Theatre Co. netted $110,000, completed 34 out of its 35 projects successfully, and received 120 proposals.
Sex: college students are pretty much always thinking, talking about, and (sometimes) doing it. That hasn’t always been the case. Recently journalist Jonathan Eig spoke at the Francis A. Countway Library of Medicine at Harvard Medical School about his new book, “The Birth of the Pill.” The story of the birth control pill’s invention is riddled with twists, turns, dashing characters, and plenty of sexual activity. FM’s conversation with Eig was less salacious, but no less salty or stimulating.
FM chats with some visitors on Freshman Parents' Weekend about the worst lies they've told, embarrassing memories, and more.
Cengiz Cemaloğlu '18 is a prospective psychology concentrator and was the director of Reality Theatre Co., a company that socially engineers experiences.
“Hello, love,” Amanda Palmer says to me in a playful, mildly British accent. She’s on the road and her cellphone signal is crackly. “We have to keep driving, so I might lose you for a bit and call back,” Palmer explains, her voice now back to its original Lexington, Mass. self. We talk, in on-and-off bursts, for about an hour.